


At the Alter

by hovercraft



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Corruption, Demon Gilgamesh, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jealousy, M/M, priest arthur, the major character death is canonical so no worries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hovercraft/pseuds/hovercraft
Summary: A demon who walks the surface of the world has his eyes set on a priest with jealousy in his heart. How quickly he can drag him down depends on the ticking of a clock.Priest!Arthur/Demon!Gil AU.
Relationships: Gilgamesh | Archer/Arthur Pendragon Alter | Saber, Gilgamesh | Archer/Arthur Pendragon | Saber
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	At the Alter

**Author's Note:**

> Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas! You get a fic about corruption.
> 
> \- Major Character Death is canon character death, so no worries about me pulling any punches.  
> \- I've always wanted to write about Arthur Alter, and this felt like a good prompt to do so.  
> \- I originally intended for this to be 9k words, but my stamina just isn't that great.  
>  ~~\- KotoGil fans blease forgive me for borrowing your premise, it's just a really good premise.~~
> 
> Enjoy!

Divine intervention divided two siblings into different paths of life.

It was Artoria who drew the sword from the anvil and claimed her rightful title as king, but now with the sword _out_ , Arthur had never had the chance to pull it himself. Whether one could say he could have, now no one could, but the demon who stalked him _knew_. He knew that the holy right to bear the sword belonged to both twins, yet the fact that Artoria had beaten him to the punch meant Arthur himself would walk a life less illustrious, less grand. In fact, it seemed Arthur was humble enough to give his sister the spotlight entirely. He watched as she gained knights, fought great battles, and gained power and love.

The forgotten twin did not join her ranks as a knight, though he would have been welcome there. He instead walked the path of the clergy. Perhaps in embedding himself in God’s work, he could find it in himself to let go of the feeling of loss he felt when he’d been denied his birthright. He was truly happy for his sister, he was, but there was always… something like a crack in the wall festering with insects, something wrong with his happiness for her. He wouldn’t let jealousy taint him. He would become ordained and speak the gospel and hopefully, he’d be saved from his own mortal feelings and sins.

The demon quietly remarked to himself that Arthur was doing a great job of trying to avoid his destiny by choosing to house himself within a church, somewhere it’d be harder for him to follow.

He pulled out a pocket watch (which could exist in this era because demons were timeless, heedlessly picking and choosing their tools throughout human history) that didn’t tell time at all, but rather, ticked down the time from which a soul that was pure and holy slowly became eroded into fitting the ranks of Hell. It was already past five minutes. The seeds of discontent were sowed within Arthur Pendragon, and there was no winding back this clock. All he could do was fall further.

Demons lived by one natural rule, and this one was no different. They lived by the idea that if you wanted something, you must take it before someone else can. This demon had sunk his fangs into Arthur’s spiritual flesh long before any other could recognize his potential. He wanted him, so badly that it stung, so badly that he’d endure walking into a house protected by a horseshoe to take him away. He might’ve laid in wait in the church graveyard that night for Arthur to come out and to follow him back to his modest home while his sister slumbered in castle walls just to get a look of him, but the look the demon got was one he wouldn’t soon forget.

A troubled priest, shrugging off the weight of the world as soon as he was outside the confines of the church, pitifully human in all regards, with potential for good or evil.

Arthur wasn’t as in charge of his destiny as he’d like to think. Other people had plans for him, instead.

\--

As Arthur undid the clasps of his cloak and threw it over a chair, he prepared dinner for himself. Normally, he’d live at the monastery, but Arthur had professed that his one vice would be that he liked his privacy, so he had taken up an old building on the corner of the property as his home. It had a good stove and a decent fireplace, so he couldn’t complain about it. Was it lonely? … Arthur never really thought about it. Holding mass, weddings, and funerals day in, day out meant you were around people all the time, listening to them confessing their sins, taking on the burden of the people. Arthur had weathered all of it as penance for the guilty feelings he held against his sister. It was the least he could do.

A knock came at the door.

Arthur opened it, expecting someone from the monastery with food or something, but… no. It was a man with blond hair and curious copper eyes. He looked cold to the bone, shivering under the weight of his cloak. Without thinking, Arthur invited him in.

“Make yourself comfortable by the fire, I’ll—”

“Thank you.” This was no old man, this person was young, likely a traveler… but why had they gone to his home instead of the monastery? Surely, if they were a thief of some kind, they’d realize the relics were _there_. “I barely got to ask my question, yet you invited me in.”

“Anyone can see that you’re cold, and what else are we taught but to help others? I’m going to make a stew. You’re welcome to share it with me.”

“I just need the fire. Thank you.”

What a curious young man… thin, but not weak. Perhaps they just needed a place to stay for the night while bandits were in the area, in which case, Arthur would be happy to walk him back to the monastery, but as he watched him warm his hands, Arthur called back from the kitchen, realizing he’d failed to ask him who he was as he butchered a hare.

“Your name, if I may ask…?”

“Gilgamesh.”

“Mm… that’s foreign, isn’t it? You’re not from around here.”

“You could say I traveled a long way, yes.”

“Yet your English is perfect.”

“Studying is a weakness of mine. I can’t stand to see a book and be unable to read it due to the language, so I take my time teaching myself as many as I can.”

Unique, but not unusual. This must be a man of the arts. ‘Gilgamesh’ didn’t sound like anything he’d ever heard in his life, nor in the bible. He must be from the far east, but there was no accent to discern. Arthur was quiet as he prepared the stew over the stove, deciding to add a bounty of herbs this time for the sake of his guest, to mask the gamey taste. As he let it cook, he left the kitchen to join him in the living room.

“Where do you hail from, stranger?”

“I come from all over, I couldn’t tell you my place of birth. Only my name,” That only made him stranger, but for Gilgamesh, lying came naturally. “I’ve been all over, through India and Rome and from ancient lands to finally here. I didn’t want to run into anyone unsavory over the night, but I did hear the most curious rumor while I was in a local pub.”

“That is…?”

“Is it true that the king here is, in fact, a woman?”

Arthur bristled immediately, denying it on the spot. “No, no! The king is my brother! If anyone would know that, it’d be me.”

“You’re the king’s brother?” Gilgamesh sounded surprised, yet… amused. “What are you doing at a monastery? You should be at his side as the next in line should he perish in battle. At the very least, shouldn’t you be trained as a knight?”

Arthur’s voice quieted. “That wasn’t the path I was destined to take in life.”

“The path of a priest is almost one of self-imposed exile, though. The same for a woman as a nun.”

“How did you know I was a priest?”

“Well, you’re still in the clothes, for one. But no, I knew because I attended your sermon.”

“Thank you. Did you enjoy it?”

“A lot less fire and brimstone than what I usually see from the Christians. You preach peace and love.”

Arthur paused, not knowing he was taking care of a non-believer, but he supposed that would obviously be the case with a traveler. Reminding himself of the situation of a good Samaritan, he continued.

“Are you interested in the church? Because I believe that the words of forgiveness are the ones people most need to hear.”

“But they need to know fear, don’t they… For what comes after when leading an unsavory life—”

“Though many of my peers feel that way, I don’t,” Arthur said quietly. “There is plenty of talk on what comes after that the people know. I would rather help them in their time of need while they live now, not for where their lives take them.”

“You are a pious man.”

“A priest needs to live a pious life.”

Gilgamesh laughed, unnerving in nature. “Is that why you’re here? Living on your own, counting your blessings and opening your door for anyone who asks it of you? Or is it…”

“…?” Arthur did not speak, but he did raise his head.

“I know the story of the sword and the stone. Did you ever get the chance to pull it yourself?”

“I did not.”

“Such simple things that shape destiny…” As Arthur passed him a mug of hot mead, Gilgamesh sniffed it, winced, but took a sip nonetheless. “I wonder what would have happened if it were you? Would you still insist on a quiet, pious life like this?”

“I would take my destiny seriously, but that is not the case.”

“Indeed… now, your destiny is your own, Arthur Pendragon. I hate to see someone so full of potential squander his talents on the religious.”

“… who are you, really?” Arthur demanded, suddenly.

“I’m someone who’s very interested in you, Arthur. The would-be king. I happen to be of the belief that you should take the throne.”

“My brother is doing a fine job of their own. They do not need me, and they support the path I chose in life.”

“And what a path it is…” Gilgamesh crooned, continuing on. “Public service at the lowest denominator. It’s an exile, just like I said. Though why one would exile themselves into priesthood when they could just as easily seize glory, even without kingship…”

Arthur could feel Gilgamesh prodding at his soul, and he didn’t like it. Standing up to go finish the stew, he tried to ignore his words. This was a first for him, people didn’t usually second-guess his intentions. They took his words at face value, his kindness, a dark side to his motivations usually unguessable. The closest that someone had ever come was a woman who suggested roughly the same thing Gilgamesh did. Why on earth was he not having adventures as a knight instead of what he was doing now? The truth was, Arthur couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the feeling of lost potential every time he visited his sister, and as insightful as she was, how she couldn’t see how unfulfilling this work was for him. He wouldn’t have guessed a demon sat in his living room for the fact that he didn’t truly believe in them—did he even recognize what he preached?

Arthur brought him a bowl of stew and let it warm his numb fingers as he sat to eat his own. “Some people aren’t meant to seize greatness the way others are. Such is the will of God, for the common man to work through plights the king cannot.”

Gilgamesh studied his face for a moment, knowing a lie when he heard one. Still, he ate the food Arthur had offered to him in relative silence, knowing that pushing Arthur had to be a long term game, unsettling him like he did just now, over and over, until he had enough.

What would Arthur do at his breaking point? As he accepted his offer to spend the night there, Gilgamesh feigned sleeping until he could sense Arthur was asleep, rising up from the floor in a fluid motion too supernatural to be human, red eyes glinting in the dark as he walked over to Arthur’s bed. This specimen of a human was so… beautiful. So perfectly made and so tailored to his wants that he couldn’t help but pass him the apple of Eden and open his eyes to knowledge of the world—of himself, and what he wanted more than anything.

He could taste it on Arthur’s breath, he wanted to be King. He felt stripped of being King. He felt like he was _meant_ to be King.

Gilgamesh could feel his potential, too. Had he been the one to test the sword, there was no doubt he would’ve pulled it. Probably not now, now that envy had infected his heart so thoroughly. Arthur must have known it too, or otherwise, he wouldn’t feel this way and feel guilty for the way he felt to the point of exiling himself for the sake of a God he clearly had issues with.

It’s all harp music and choirs in Heaven. Follow him, Arthur, and the real fun to be had would be in Hell.

\--

Gilgamesh took residency in Arthur’s little cottage in exchange for golden coins that weren’t official British currency but held great value nonetheless. Arthur wasn’t greedy, but Gilgamesh had insisted that he pay him. If he didn’t like having the money, he could give it to the church or something. Arthur had resolved to do just that, trading the gold in town and taking the money to the Church. The only things he bought in town were new clothes for Gilgamesh, as whatever he wore to Arthur’s house was far too little for the climate, and a few pounds of meat to prepare for dinner now that he had a guest.

Gilgamesh, unbothered by the Church but wary of holy water, sat at the back pews as Arthur gave his sermons. True to his character, they were uplifting tales of Christ and his followers, how one should always give, how good things come to those who give their best back to the world. Everyone seemed to leave the church feeling better about themselves than when they entered. Arthur’s influence as a king seemed to play into his influence as a pastor; he was a very good influencer.

Such wasted talent.

If Arthur knew he was harboring a demon, he’d have him exorcised or killed on the spot, but so far, Gilgamesh was only pricking his mind with simple questions—what it would be like to be king, what of your brother, is he truly doing his best? Artoria was wise and kind and held her position better than anyone throughout the land, but Arthur was just as noble. Arthur knew this, and each day that passed as Gilgamesh lived with him, it seemed to grow worse, like the needling way the demon pressed inside his mind was unbearable.

“What is making you ask so many things?” He asks, breathlessly one day, having had enough. “I am content with my life!”

“Someone who was content wouldn’t shout like that,” Gilgamesh responded evenly. “I know your type, Arthur. I know you can deny yourself the pleasures of mankind easily, but it’s the vices just out of your reach that tempt you the most. You were born for the sake of power. A position you should have inherited went to your _sister_ , of all people.”

“He is not my sister!”

Gilgamesh leaned back with a glass of wine, rolling his eyes. “We both know it, Arthur. The King of the Castle is none other than Artoria Pendragon, who now goes by Artorius, doesn’t she?”

Arthur stared at the wall, knowing that this stranger was here for blackmail, to exploit something out of him for Artoria’s sake.

“What… do you want.”

“What do I want? We’re talking about what you want, Arthur. You want to be king.”

“I don’t want to be king! The king is doing a fine enough job!”

“’Fine enough’? It sounds like she isn’t living up to your standards. It sounds like you’d be doing some things differently.”

“You’re like a demon, trying to steer me down a path I’m not going to set foot on. Leave this be if you want to stay here.”

“A demon…?” Gilgamesh sounded _hurt_ , not because the accusation hurt him, but because Arthur left it there, plain and simple. “I’m no demon. I want what’s best for you because you clearly don’t.”

“I’m doing what’s best for me. Trying to find God.”

“A real priest would have found him already.”

“…”

“Arthur…” Gilgamesh seemed almost sincere when he spoke. “How much will you give up for the sake of your sister?”

“Anything,” He responded quickly. “Everything.”

“That’s such a pity.”

Gilgamesh retired to his room without another word.

\--

Arthur knew he shouldn’t be harboring someone who knew the family secret, but he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of Gilgamesh either.

Gilgamesh knew him intimately, in a way that few people did. He guessed things about him that people hadn’t figured out about him in years, his entire life. Arthur had precious few friends, just well-wishers and people who needed him, needed his guidance. Arthur had chosen a lonely life, and in choosing it, he had forgotten one important thing: he could quit whenever he wanted. Take up the mantle of a knight, make friends with fellow warriors, put his life on the line for others, but with Gil, it was such a soft, sickly temptation to listen to him and only him.

He realized this could be a spy, a witch, someone threatening to undo the foundation of Britain, but Gilgamesh rarely left his side and kept dripping venom into his ear at an almost constant rate. It was friendly and kind, and Arthur didn’t even realize he was falling long after he’d walked off the edge of the cliff.

“If your sister were in your shoes, do you think she’d become a nun?”

“No… she’s far too headstrong for that. She’d want to be a knight. An equal. She wouldn’t just take what life handed her.”

“So you differ in that key way.”

“I… I suppose we do.”

“But you’re only a priest to hide your jealousy of her. To try and cure yourself of it.”

“…”

“That in itself is not ignoble, but you’re suffering under the burden of a God that does not care that you’ve pitied yourself enough to work for him. If you ask me, you should quit.”

Sacrilege, all of it, but why couldn’t Arthur stop listening? He should quit. He should return to Camelot, but… there was no place for him, there. By now, his sister would welcome him, but he’d already been replaced in her life by a slew of knights who were ready to die for her. Besides, it didn’t seem like Gilgamesh was convincing him to do that, anyway.

“There was always meant to be a King Arthur. I suppose history doesn’t care if it’s a man or a woman,” Gilgamesh said offhandedly, one day.

“Are you a prophet, now?” Arthur had just finished with confessions for the day, now fully aware of who was sleeping with who and cheating on their spouses, who were gambling away their family’s money, and felt no fulfillment telling these people to seek atonement.

“I’m… aware of a few predestined things. I think you were robbed, Arthur.”

“… even if I was, that changes nothing.” Ah, just to hear the tone of his voice shift to the other end of the spectrum! To blame Artoria just a little more each and every day for beating him to the punch, it was proof of Gilgamesh’s corruption. The pull he had over humans to tempt them to their worst desires, it was in full effect within Arthur.

“Why not take back what is yours?”

“As much as you try to tempt me, I value peace above all things. It just feels like I can… never find it for me, is all.”

“A shame you have no one to confide in… Why haven’t you taken a wife?”

“A wife would not entertain these notions, either.”

“I would.”

As he left Arthur to ponder the implications, he walked just out of view to look at his pocket watch. It was just before fifteen minutes looked to have passed. This was progressing much faster than he thought it would take to sink Arthur Pendragon.

\--

Soon, they were to be seen everywhere together. The story at the church was that Arthur had played the role of shelter to this foreign nomad, and he had provided good friendship in turn. It had played part in his lectures about opening one’s doors and houses to the poor, though the common folk wasn’t likely to follow in his footsteps. Gilgamesh acted towards him not unlike a lover, and though Arthur had done his best to ignore it, Gilgamesh would not let up so easily.

“It is one thing to speak to me as though we are friends…” Arthur spoke quietly as they navigated the castle market, careful to ignore the knights stationed there. “But you have begun to act untoward around me.”

“I had no idea. I thought I was just being friendly. Perhaps it is a… difference of culture?”

“Hard to believe there’s a difference of anything when you adapt to life here so easy.”

“Have I made it seem like it was easy? Where I’m from, everything is so much more different.”

Arthur knew the men stationed here as some of Artoria’s most trusted, but he couldn’t bring himself to look them in the eye. It was for the best to just get what he needed and get out of here. Even still, Gilgamesh was whispering in his ear.

“These would’ve been your knights as king, wouldn’t they?”

“Who knows? It could have played out differently. I could have made a terrible king.”

“We both know that isn’t true,” Gilgamesh grinned. “Most of all, you shouldn’t lie to yourself. God will listen.”

Here Gilgamesh was, playing the anti-Merlin to a slowly corrupting would-be king. Arthur didn’t know what to do with him. Roses had started blooming in his garden despite never having planted them. They had the sharpest thorns, yet their fragrance was so beautiful they were worth trimming and pruning. It was less a slippery slope and more of a vertical downfall for Arthur. First he was questioning God, then himself, then everything Gilgamesh had enticed him to think about.

Gilgamesh wanted him to think about pleasure. What pleased him, what he was failing to pursue in pursuit of a pious life. He wanted him selfishly to think of himself, and also of Gilgamesh. Of course, as much as he tried to deny it and act as though Gilgamesh wasn’t affecting him, he certainly was, and it was troubling Arthur a great deal.

The truth was, something had been bothering Arthur for the longest time.

A man had come into his confessional that morning. While it was the most private place religion afforded a person, to confess their sins, Arthur was still only a man listening to the vile things the man confessed. Spending all of their money on liquor which he would then work himself into a drunken stupor over, then repeatedly abusing his wife and daughters. To think there was nothing he could do about it, and Arthur had stumbled in telling Gilgamesh about this.

“Well, someone ought to do something,” Gilgamesh looked at him, plainly.

“He’s untouchable around town. Covers everything up with a smile. No one would ever know he was doing this outside of his home. I see his children every Sunday, and…”

“Why don’t you do something about it, Arthur?”

“Because he confessed to me. Clearly, that means he wants to do—”

“—Maybe he just wants justification from God? That he knows he’s sinned and is trying to guarantee his seat in heaven while still doing this? Peasants don’t understand the bible, they only understand the preacher’s words. Maybe you’ve been too gentle with these people. Too understanding, and now look at them.”

Guilt wracked Arthur’s body, wondering how he could fix this if it was his problem to start with, as Gilgamesh implied. He was the son of a king, brother to the current king. He could handle this with ease just by getting Artoria involved, but—that spoke volumes of his own powerlessness.

A heavy ‘click’ resounded right by Gilgamesh’s chest, and he excused himself to check the pocket watch in private. Now it was 25 past. The rule was, once you passed thirty minutes, there was no going back to God or being welcomed in heaven. What Arthur was planning, even Gilgamesh didn’t know. In fact, he didn’t even need to push him to do it. The best-made plans of demons were usually made while they were still alive, as humans making their own evil decisions.

\--

The nice thing about being on the corner of the church property was no one would ask why you were digging a hole in the middle of the night.

“I hope this doesn’t spoil the well water,” Arthur commented idly as Gilgamesh noted how detached he sounded. He probably didn’t even realize what he had done, killing a father and husband just because he was an abusive alcoholic. There were plenty just like him in Britain, and it probably killed Arthur inside not to have the power to do anything about it, just to listen to their pleas for forgiveness as they go out and do it again. Digging deep enough so that the foxes wouldn’t dig him up, he tipped the man into the grave with his shovel and began covering it up. Flowers he’d bought at the market would be planted over the grave, a new ‘addition’ to his garden to cover up the obvious human-shaped spot.

“We can just get water from the monastery. Tell them something died in the well and you can’t fish it out.” Gilgamesh watched as Arthur insisted upon doing this himself. When he was finally done, Arthur collapsed to his knees, shaking and breathing hard.

“I can’t believe I—” He spat, knowing that luring the man to his home and striking him over the head fatally was a sin that couldn’t be forgiven by the very god he was supposed to be serving. “I can’t believe…”

“You protected a family. God wasn’t protecting them.” Gilgamesh whispered sweetly in his ear, wrapping his arms around his shoulders intimately. “People have killed for worse reasons, and nothing would have been done about it without your help.” As Arthur began to sob, Gilgamesh turned him around so he could take him into his arms and stroke his back. “God will surely forgive you for protecting those too weak to protect themselves.”

Arthur couldn’t see the wicked smile on Gilgamesh’s lips as he comforted him with lies, but as Arthur slowly started to believe them, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

\--

The sweet, peaceful sermons of the past had started to take a turn for the more severe.

If Arthur’s kindness had lead to people believing they’d be free of guilt for their sins, then he’d clearly steered his people wrong. He began to read from the darker histories of the bible, pressing that sin that was not made amends for would not be forgiven. Asking for forgiveness was suddenly not enough—one had to act on that as well. This didn’t go unnoticed by his peers, who suggested that the people were happier with the old kind of Mass, and Arthur suggested in turn that they had grown too content with it.

Nobody knew where the man disappeared, and no one suspected Arthur. Everyone just assumed he’d skipped town without his wife and children, and the Abbey made sure the group of them were cared for under Arthur’s watchful eyes.

“People still come to me with the worst problems…” Arthur told Gilgamesh once, as he carved up a rabbit with a lot less respect for the departed than he used to. “Gamblers, liars, cheaters, now more than ever now that I’ve changed my sermons. They all want forgiveness, and I want them to pay for their crimes.”

“That’s only natural…” Gilgamesh leaned against the doorway, watching how the priest carried himself now. “You are in a position to forgive them or let it slide.”

“If I were king,” Arthur began, a taboo topic now open between the two of them. “I’d never forgive them. I’d have them charged for their crimes by the book.”

Gilgamesh knew that this was all due to his influence, the unholy weight of his gravity dragging down on Arthur, that this might clear up if he just went away, but now that his talons were sunk into Arthur’s flesh, he was never going to let go.

“Becoming a king might not be so hard.”

Arthur paused for only a moment, before resuming cutting up the rabbit. There was still one place he hadn’t trespassed, and that was harming his sister in any way.

“After all, her court mage has left her, recently. If her secret were to slip out...”

“I said no, and I mean no,” Arthur said firmly. “She is doing a fine job.”

“If she’s doing such a fine job, why aren’t you going to her with your problems? She could have these people tried for their crimes if she knew how badly they were hurting your people—”

“Because it is a separation of the Church and law! I am not supposed to reveal anything.”

“And yet you killed for what you knew.”

“I had to.”

“You really didn’t… you could have lived your life without staining your soul at all. Do you… enjoy this, Arthur? Does doling out your own sense of justice heal the wounds inside your heart?”

“I could _never_ …"

“Yet, you are,” Gilgamesh wore the proudest smirk. “You are, and even more than that, you’ve grown to appreciate my presence helping you along the way.”

“You must be some kind of demon…” Arthur choked out.

Gilgamesh laughed, neither confirming or denying it. “Arthur, I love you.”

…

“What?”

“I love your sense of justice. How no one gets in the way of doing what’s right for you. How not even God stops you in your tracks. There are things more powerful than God on this Earth, and you have managed to reach it—a lack of fear for the unknown, for doing what is right in the present.” Let no one forget that Gilgamesh was speaking of _murder_ , here. “You are beautiful. A king without a crown, with your own subjects who worship you because only you can grant them salvation. I adore you.”

“…”

“And I am your trusted friend. I won’t pretend you feel the same way about me—”

“I said you were behaving untoward.”

“That’s right. So…”

“I never said I didn’t like it.”

Arthur was staring hard at the wall, giving that open invitation for Gilgamesh to reassure him, or to mock him and say it was all a joke. Instead, in front of that window that overlooked the flower garden where they’d buried a man together, Gilgamesh wrapped his arms around him from behind, letting the heat of his breath ghost Arthur’s neck. There were no false pretenses now, as Gilgamesh lay claim to Arthur’s body with his hands, fully embracing him as he felt that clock tick closer and closer to fifteen ‘til.

It was not the act of love that was a sin but to embrace someone who had been corrupting him with open arms that was. To be listening to their devilish words and agreeing in the face of everything one had been taught. The problem wasn’t Arthur’s love, but rather, his love for Gilgamesh. To look past all faults and agree with him just because he played the strings of his heart just right.

Gilgamesh would drag him away from the fire, away from the meal he was supposed to be preparing, and lavish that love he’d been holding in onto him. Arthur was his now, only moments away from being condemned for all eternity into his arms, and he’d make sure Arthur _loved_ every second of it. Each time he pressed his tongue in between his lips, he could feel Arthur falling farther and farther downward until he wasn’t truly Arthur anymore, but an altered version of himself who had become spiteful instead of seeking forgiveness for that spite, who had gone from recognizing his envy to embracing it.

As Arthur held him back, Gilgamesh could feel the subtle embrace of a sinner casting away their salvation to try and find heaven on earth. A noble idea, in theory, but to get rid of your eternal rewards for the sake of momentary pleasure was foolish. Still, Gilgamesh wouldn’t complain about how he won this game. As he dragged Arthur to bed, teaching him all about a demon’s touch, he couldn’t help but notice how needy Arthur was in craving him back. So far, Gilgamesh had been his only friend through his darkest thoughts, and Gilgamesh had only enabled them.

So what? Some people needed vice over virtue to feel whole. Why would he ever deny Arthur that?

\--

When things went wrong in Camelot, as they were always destined to, Arthur decided to finally abandon his role as a priest and travel to the castle walls, torn asunder by the war that Lancelot spurred on, that Mordred had finished.

People recognized Arthur, finally, for who he was in relation to the king, and begged for his help. As the brother to the illustrious King Arthur, surely he could help settle things with the throne. First, though, Arthur would find his sister, mortally wounded, dying beneath a tree.

“Arthur…” Artoria whispered. “It’s been so long…”

“I know, Artoria.” He took her hands into his, though even in her state, she could tell that the light had left his eyes.

“Everything… will be…” Spitting up blood, she struggled to talk. “It’s up to you, now. My Round Table is no more. Everything I worked for is gone. You’re the only one left to take the throne. It won’t… be easy…”

“No, Artoria. The hardest thing to do is this.”

\--

Once Bedivere had returned, he was distraught to find Artoria’s body gone. The only hint that it had ever been there was the blood spilled onto the grass. Strangely, there was more than what he last saw.

As if Artoria had bled out around the neck.

\--

“Welcome back…”

Arthur’s armor was now black, red accents climbing up the middle of it. The people who had thought Arthur would be their salvation were now having their doubts, but he was the only one with the birthright to rule. The green eyes he shared with his sister—did anyone remember him having them? They were an amber-gold now. Gilgamesh sat on the steps to his throne, Arthur brushing his cheek gently before taking his seat upon the throne.

“Serving as a priest has taught me many things about the people I will now come to rule,” Arthur began, his voice almost seeming hopeful and kind. “I know your vices, your weaknesses, your strengths, and your goodness,” The fact that he even said the word ‘goodness’ felt strange, like he was mocking the subjects beneath him. “Where my brother has failed you, I will be your strength, your shield, and your sword.”

People looked at one another nervously but applauded his words nonetheless. As Gilgamesh peeked at the watch hidden by his chest, both arms now pointing squarely at midnight, he reveled in his hard work, how he now had an Arthur he could keep, that when his days were finally up, he could drag him down, down to where no one could follow.

As the king’s secret lover, he not only looked forward to seeing how Arthur wielded it, he delighted in the idea that he might start with the people of his parish; revealing them for the sinners they are and casting them out. There were so many possibilities, each more exciting than the last. Arthur had so much _promise_.

Gilgamesh couldn’t wait to see what he would do with it, couldn't _wait_ to see how Britain would change, and most importantly, couldn't wait to see how it would change Arthur himself.


End file.
